


Fleshtones

by meanderingsoul



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bedroom Sex, Body Image, Established Relationship, F/M, Injury Recovery, Naked Cuddling, Scars, Season/Series 05, Serious Injuries, Skin, Socks, Vaginal Fingering, amateur surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 11:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13569969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanderingsoul/pseuds/meanderingsoul
Summary: Phil's boxers were still on, one foot trapped half under her jeans flung across the end of the bed. May was still wearing socks, little grey ones with a stripe of black around the ankle. Her hair had tangled back around his ear and he needed a shower given he’d run today, but she’d licked the salt off his collarbone earlier.Sometimes planning things out was overrated.





	Fleshtones

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly floof, but mind the tags please. May's idea of acceptable wound care and literally everyone else's are two different things. Detailed warnings at the end.

 

Like this the loudest sound was their breathing.

Phil’s face was buried in May’s dark hair, their shoulders and bent knees on the mattress, weight braced on his elbow, the flats of his shins over her warm legs.

His boxers were still on, one foot trapped half under her jeans flung across the end of the bed. She was still wearing socks, little grey ones with a stripe of black around the ankle. Her hair had tangled back around his ear and he needed a shower given he’d run today, but she’d licked the salt off his collarbone earlier.

Sometimes planning things out was overrated.

Phil curled his fingers again, slow and hard against how she clung tight to him inside, felt her socked foot kick lightly against his leg. Between her dark hair and her touch he could barely see, every last neuron focused on his flesh against hers, the slick curves inside her belly clinging to his knuckles.

He knew better than to tease her, to trail fingertip touches away from where she needed it or spend time slowly taking off her clothes. May had about the same amount of tolerance for most bedroom foreplay as she did for small talk. The time for quietly playful flirting was outside of bed.    

She liked kisses. He could get away with petting her back and hair or sometimes kneading into her shoulders with his thumbs, but once clothes came off he was expected to get to work.

That was fine. It hadn’t been his preference in the past. Rushing into things had always felt like exactly that, rushing through something good, but they were used to each other like this now. May was more than happy to fall asleep on his chest, to be held tight and nuzzled through the aftershocks. It was more than enough of a trade off.

Her left hand was squeezing back at his shoulder, his bicep, almost like you would a stress ball, some rhythm that only existed in her head. The other hand kneaded her own breast absentmindedly, more cute than sexy. Phil _loved_ it. These were happy gestures. He was halfway waiting for a purr.

He sank his fingers deep and held there, felt the startled jump inside her body around him, the squeeze of muscles, ground his palm against her slick soft folds.

Nose to temple on the bed he could hear her quiet whimper.

Phil kissed behind her ear. “Mmm, let me hear you.”

May made an, “Nnnn,” sound into the mattress, plaintive and complaining and _needing_ in a way that made him rock forward against the soft side of her thigh on instinct.

Phil went back to quick, hard strokes inside her, feeling her hips fall back into grinding circles against his hand. “Come on, come on…”

“Uhhnn shut up,” she snarled into the side of her arm with her eyes closed, lips parted and a flush visible on her cheek.

He pressed damp kisses down the nape of her neck, lips parted to either side of her spine around a smile.

She ground the curve of her ass back against the crux of his hips in a slow shimmy, dragging a breathy growl out of his throat from the pressure on his dick, the softness of her skin and heat of her muscle. The thin fabric of his boxers felt like sandpaper on his dick. He was so ready to sink himself inside her, aching for it, just needed her to come first.

She hummed in satisfaction, reached back to grip his ass when he couldn’t help rocking in against the grind of her hips against his hand. They were so ready for this, to fuck in the dark hush of this room when they really should be doing other things. To _have_ this, to share it.

He caught sight of the darkened scars on her wrist out of the corner of his eye.

Her metric had scarred worse than the rest of theirs from the butchered insertion and it was inevitable her leg hadn’t healed well. There’d been too much time gone by without care, too much time before the access to medical-grade alcohol and real compression bandages and some ancient antibiotics that had felt like a miracle. It'd been far too late for much real medical intervention, but May’d finally consented to one minor procedure, spending most of a week on crutches instead of the recommended bedrest. But she wasn’t limping and her knee wasn’t being strained now; it was really the best they could do. That scar was a think pink line.

The original wounds had been raised snarls of scar tissue, darkly pink and interrupted by smoother patches of burned flesh. For a little while Phil had taken to resting his palm over the scars when May was asleep. She’d never tolerated fussing over her injuries, but he knew without her having to say that she hated how this one pulled at her skin.

May had shaved the scars down one day without a word to anyone, using Natasha’s disturbing set of old tricks, a fresh razorblade and Vaseline and loose bandages. She’d gone to the labs for a sterile space and Simmons had intercepted, finally insisted with a stubborn ferocity on lidocaine properly applied or she’d find some terrible consequences to dish out. Fitz and Daisy had hid in the server room. Phil hadn’t found out about any of it until hours later.

None of them had come back unmarred.

Simmons did have some hearing damage from Kasius, but thankfully only the in the highest registers. They all had scars on their wrists from the metrics. No amount of wound care made something as low tech as that procedure had been vanish. The scar where Daisy’s inhibitor had been visible was mostly hidden by her hair, but the faint pink lines were clear. Mack had a scar above his left eye from Kasius’ beating, though Yoyo had loudly announced its apparent rakish sexiness on more than one occasion.

“Was it bothering you that much?” he’d asked later, because if he ever got the slightest _hint_ she’d planned on undertaking amateur plastic surgery alone with some pilfered tequila as her only anesthetic because of him or them Phil was going to be so incredibly _pissed_.

“Yes,” she’d said after a moment, staring at the tops of her boots on his desk and her thigh held up off the chair. But, she hadn’t been lying. May had only ever allowed herself vanity about her skillset, but that didn't mean she couldn't just hate the look of a scar in its own right.

He’d held May’s knees out flat to the mattress earlier to lave across the soft insides of her thighs with his tongue, rub his cheek against her skin, suck kisses.  

The scars had healed smoother after May’d worked on them to her satisfaction, still a dusky pink against her warm skin tones. She had so few freckles Phil could count them on his remaining fingers. His back and shoulders were still faintly covered with the things even after years without much sun.

She’d yanked his t-shirt up to cover his face when he’d gone to pull her panties down with his teeth.

He’d finally knelt up to yank it off over his head, grateful he kept his hair short enough now to be immune from getting it mussed. “How rude.”

She’d grinned brightly, eyes half shut and arching her shoulders back into the bed in a lazy writhe, knees coming up to grip his hips. “Don’t you quote Star Wars at me Phil.”

“Don’t even _remind_ me,” he’d said as she lifted her hips for him to tug her panties off with his hand.

Every time they did this he found more of fetish for it. Holding someone still to be pleasured really wasn’t something he’d ever given much thought before, but May loved it. He liked having her between him and the mattress, warm and safe, her shoulders under his chest and the flex of her spine against his belly.

The long scars on his chest and back had gone white over time, though still knarled to the touch. They’d both grown used to them, the texture and the nerveless spots.

May made a familiar startled, hurting little sound before her body seized, back bowing up against his weight without enough coordination to shift him, her free arm hitting down against the mattress. He rocked his hand into the flex of it, the flutter of blood-hot flesh between her legs until she finally breathed in deep, the wave of orgasm fading.

Phil tipped them over onto their sides on the bed, folded her almost into his lap, her shoulders wrapped in the crux of his arm and her knees bent up over his legs while he kissed her through those shivery few minutes. He licked in across her soft tongue and she sucked faintly at the corner of his mouth, eyes half open and staring at his face, her arm curling tight around his waist.

Phil leaned up across her ribs to suck his wet fingers clean, lick the slick off his palm before the heat and her taste faded.

May’s face scrunched up with silent laughter; she’d never understood the appeal of that no matter what he said. She pulled his boxers down enough for him to kick them off without having to move her, curled her fingers around the slick tip of him, tight and perfect and he had to grab for her wrist.

“Stop, stop I’m too close for that.”

May lifted her leg over his hips, shifted closer, smoothed a hand up his back. “Not like I made you wait.”

Phil cupped her jaw in his hand, pressed quick deep kisses to her mouth while he got his foot against the mattress. She was still flushed hot all over and shivery and by the last kiss she moaned into his mouth just a little. “You have no idea how _amazing_ it feels being in you when you’re already halfway there again.” Between that and the way she’d sleep against him in utter limp-muscled contentment after two orgasms, it was always always worth it.

And May might not have any use for teasing but he sure didn't mind doing it to himself.

“I’ll take your word for it,” she rasped out as he rubbed sticky-wet against her and pressed in.

His eyes closed sinking in, bent forehead to forehead and he could feel her eyes fixed on him as he finally was buried in her, feel the shudder roll through her belly. He forced his eyes open as he started to curl his hips up into hers, slow hard rhythm, how she kept her leg tight around him to keep them close, the sheen of heat on her skin.

They didn’t quite kiss, eyes to eyes and breathing hard. Her head rested heavy back on his arm, gaze bright and deep and already so satisfied with everything in a way, with this, with every touch. It was a heady kind of trust.  

He tried to kiss her cheek about the same moment she made a desperate gasping sound and arched back against his grasp, her heel slipping down the back of his leg in its little sock, her body squeezing tight around him and shuddering when he kept moving anyway.

May went limp in his arms with a faint whine. He kept at the same steady grind on their sides another few moments, holding her leg over him by the back of her knee, but this was it, too much sensation, too much wet tight heat and fingertips clinging to his shoulder, his skin too thin over nerves.

Phil stifled his few, overwhelmed moans between her throat and the mattress.

He blinked hard after a moment. May had already curled herself into his chest, nose to ribs and hands curled loose in the tiny space between their chests, scarred knuckles and little fingers he liked to suck into his mouth, but now wasn't the time. His hand had fisted itself in the tangled ends of her hair. It took a moment to open fingers gone clumsy with exhaustion and endorphins.

Phil shifted his head on top of his left arm now that May wasn’t using it, smoothed her hair back off her face.

The black scars he could see on his chest were striking and terrible, intricate in a way he knew somehow was never going to fade to pink or white like normal scars. There was something horrifically _other_ about them, a sensation even the scepter scars from his first death had never given him.

May never treated them any differently than the rest of his skin.

Phil kissed her hair and decided to just watch her doze for a minute. It was so good to still be here, to be home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *May shaves down the badly-healed scars on her thigh with a razor blade. This is not the recommended procedure for scar repair. Obviously. Vaseline is acceptable for shallow abrasions and recommended for skin biopsy sites to heal smoothly. May is very stubborn.*
> 
> Two months of writers block and aren't we glad I'd started this before 5x10 aired? Cause, _damn_. Thankfully _someone_ had been requesting philinda smut these last weeks. I'll be using the hiatus for three more fluff/fluff-adjacent fics and three angst fics. At least there's symmetry. 
> 
> Do let me know if you spot that Star Wars reference. ;) Thanks for reading.


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